The Rise of Harley Quinn
by Blue Eyes At Night
Summary: a long oneshot on the transformation from Harleen Quinzel to Harley Quinn...RR!


A/N – this couple got into my head and God help me nothing was getting done before Harley and Joker, and Silver and Bruce, got jotted down. So here's the first half. I'm quite the fan of The Mad Puppy's version of how the romance began in the asylum but here's my take!

Personal note, my ex boyfriend was the one that truly introduced me to the nerdy side of comics, as for myself I only tend to dabble in what entertains me so please don't get too mad at spelling errors or things like that, its not something I did an insane amount of research on but I assure you, I have dedication to my story and you won't be disappointed in the tale 

Uncontrollable

Harleen's life had always been very neat with a place for everything and everything in its place. She didn't come from the best circumstances…wasn't _Harleen_ the first hint of a trailer trash past? But she rose above. Valedictorian of her high school, she had a pick of any college in the world, but she couldn't afford most. The Wayne Scholarship Fund got her into one of the best colleges in the country and she dove into psychiatry; taking instantly to it like a duck to water. Undergrad, grad school…doctorate. Nothing was too hard. Success had never been hard for Harleen, she had figured out a long time ago that you just had to remove yourself from the equation and you could do anything.

She could stay up til 5am studying and take a four hour exam at 7 and pass. She could shift through the corpses in the student medical center for hours after all the other interns gave up on that aspect of their biology lesson. She could go for hours without food, she'd gone a whole day once. She didn't play, she didn't go out, she didn't party and she succeeded…success to her was more important. Pain was just a fleeting distraction from her goals.

All her life she'd watched as her family struggled from paycheck to paycheck to pay the bills, and often falling short. She'd listened as they told her that their love for her, and her five younger siblings, was more important then material comfort. She allowed herself to be dragged to church to pray for better day, bigger checks but (most importantly, they said) her ideal house in heaven.

What did she want anything to do with heaven? Harleen would wonder. She wanted the comforts now, this instant. She wanted to do well, to earn the respect, the comforts, that her family's position had never afforded her.

The Wayne Institute supported her through it. Well…no one supported Harleen, she earned every penny they gave her with wit and sheer ambition. She was going to be the best, and they wanted to back the best horse. Upon receiving her doctorate she got a letter offering her a position at Gotham's Arkham Asylum for the Criminally Insane.

It took her less then a split second to agree.

Not only was criminology considered one of the toughest areas of rehabilitation in psychiatry, but Gotham happened to be a gold mine of the best criminal minds alive today. Of course, they were so good they were constantly in and out of the asylum, but the resident vigilante of Gotham kept returning them. Harleen flew into Gotham counting the zeros in her paycheck and cracking her fingers, prepping to show off all that hard earned knowledge.

Dr. Harleen Quinzel could've been quite the impressive woman. She had platinum blonde hair, a slim build, and miles of legs, but she never took any notice of it. The hair piled into a bun on her head, puffy lab coats and frumpy skirts hid her body. It was the one aspect of her childhood she never outgrew…Harleen tended to not own clothes that fit her, and they tended to be out of season. She didn't like to waste time trying things on or shopping, and it was an insane waste of money to buy something for $40 which could be had for $15. And she looked like $15 instead of $40. Bright blue eyes were obscured by glasses that tended to slip down her nose. Although they were only a reading prescription, Harleen almost never stopped reading some form or another during the day and saw little use to taking the glasses off. She thought they made her look smarter too, and there was never any harm in that.

The new doctor quickly became the best doctor in the asylum. Harleen glided through most of the minor patients, diagnosing and treating them with the ease of a seasoned veteran. But her arrogance is what made the head of the asylum decide to break her against the biggest rock in the whole hospital.

"Dr. Quinzel, could you come into my office?" The loudspeaker cracked with his distinctive voice. Harleen ambled into the office, anxious to continue showing off her hard earned prowess in her field.

"I don't think I need to tell you that you're doing exceedingly well, do I Harleen?" He began.

"Thank you, sir." Although she thought that it was clear she was doing well…and she hated to be addressed so informally. She had _earned_ the right to be called doctor, and she would like others to respect that.

The old doctor wasn't fooled by her demure answer for a moment, "That's why I'm giving you a new assignment. Top priority, all your other cases will be returned to their original doctors."

Harleen sat up straighter…top priority? That was more her speed.

"Who?" She asked, this time without hidden sarcasm.

"Jack Napier, alias The Joker. He's our only genuine sociopath that's in residence right now. Homicidal, manic-depressive mood swings that tend towards violence… his triggers don't seem to be consistent as he's just as likely to jump at an insult or a compliment, its all how he view it in his head. There is likely some extreme chemical imbalances due to his…"

"Yes, yes, the accident that mutilated him. Intriguing. Have tests been done?"

"Unfortunately, its not safe to be that close to him. He has a great deal of physical strength and has been known to break through restraints. Mr. Napier doesn't want to be tested, he doesn't want us figuring out his chemical blueprint because he feels the source of his 'power' lies in it. His power seems to be the most sacred thing to him and he guards it viciously, both loving and hating his condition."

"And, I assume, the perceived cause of his condition. The Batman that you Gothamites claim runs about at night." Harleen rolled her eyes at the last part but held out her hands, anxious for the Napier file that lay on her boss' desk.

He eyed her hand nervously.

"Harleen, I'm giving you this case because you can't solve it."

Her face fell, and her hand drooped to the desk.

"I'm giving it to you because your fresh out of school, you're a very bright girl, you might be the brightest young mind in your field, and that's all gone to your head. I need for you to gain perspective on where your boundaries lie. Is that understood? Don't kill yourself trying to do the impossible. No one can break Jack Napier."

Nodding Harleen silently accepted the file, turned on her heel and left briskly.

Oh…she'd find her place all right!

Harleen walked into the room where Jack Napier, alias The Joker, was sitting in his straight jacket whistling to himself. When he turned to look at her he wolf whistled, "New blood's come to town! How _do_ you do?"

All business, Harleen did not let his appearance, so much more startling to behold in person, startle her, and she sat down across from him, took out her pad and readied her pen, "I'm Dr. Harleen Quinzel. It's nice to meet you Mr. Napier."

His face darkened, "My name is Joker."

"Your name is Jack Napier. Your alias is Joker."

His voice was dangerously low and it even cut through Harleen's thick head, "I'm Joker."

The silent dare to test him hung heavy in the air, Harleen shrugged her shoulders, "Nice to meet you Mr. Joker."

He suddenly burst out laughing as viciously as a hyena, "Mr. Joker! I like that…oh you _ are _going to be a fun one, Doc."

"How so, Mr. Joker?" Harleen diligently jotted down the interaction, the reaction, the line of thought…she could break this man. Figure him out.

"You're going to resist the fall." His voice was suddenly light, almost philosophical. From the tone she gathered something about the deep intelligence he was said to possess.

"What fall are you referring to?"

His permanent smile threw her, she couldn't tell if he was really smiling or not. She thought maybe he was.

"The descent into madness."

"And what leads you to believe I'll go mad?"

A light stream of chuckling poured out of his gaping smile, "Your in a madhouse, sugar…we all go mad in here."

He seemed to amuse himself so much that his laughter didn't stop. Eventually Harleen could not settle him, his laughter only intensified, and she called in the guards to take him away.

As they pulled him out the door he winked at her, "Next week, Doctor Quinzel."

Pride was a large pill to swallow, and Harleen had a lot of it. She couldn't admit how thrown she'd been by Ja—the Joker. That terrible laughter coming from those frozen, too-red lips was haunting her, and she didn't sleep well that night. She spent the next few nights going over his files til dawn, going to work, coming home, going over his files…it didn't feel like a week passed but it did. She found herself waiting for The Joker, for Round Two to begin.

He came into the office, led by two guards with a third walking behind, and immediately shrieked, "Jesus, lady, you look like shit!"

Harleen blushed, taken aback by the reaction, "I'm not here to model for you, Mr. Joker, I am here to recuperate you. Please sit down."

As he sat down, one of the guards cleared his throat, "M'am, just so you know he's going to ask for permission to go back into general population, but that isn't allowed."

"Why was he removed from general population?"

"He was a bad boy in art therapy." The guard handed Harleen a folded piece of paper which she opened and studied.

On it was a blonde woman with a good body who was opening up a doctor's lab coat to reveal a naked body, the pubic hair shaved into a ghastly smiley face. The face resembled her startlingly. To her credit, Harleen let that slide off of her like water, and focused instead on the incredible craftsmanship of the piece.

"Why wasn't this brought to my attention sooner? This is my patient, punishment is under my jurisdiction."

"And you're under the boss' jurisdiction. He happened to be overseeing art therapy this morning and took the liberty of doling out punishment. Bring it up with him."

The guards took their post outside the office and the Joker, his big grin still scaring her ever so much, gazed at her, his eyes empty. Not cold, nor cruel, not amused or happy…they were devoid of everything, they could've been dead.

For the first time in her life, Harleen realized what they meant when they said that sociopaths' had the devil's eyes.

She cleared her throat, "You're an exceptional artist, Mr. Joker."

A low, throaty giggle echoed in the room as he quirked an eyebrow, "So you think that picture is exceptional, doctor?"

"I think you're an exceptional artist. The picture is lewd and inappropriate." She folded the paper back up and stuck it in her briefcase.

"I'm lewd and inappropriate." His white skin glowed sickly in the florescent light, it almost gleamed like the corpse of a dead grandmother had gleamed and Harleen felt her stomach flip.

In her surprise at her lack of composure, Harleen forgot to reply, doubling her lack of composure and her humiliation. The Joker hooted and laughed at her red cheeks, "Oh, you poor, pathetic, prissy little princess. Didn't they warn you?" he leaned forward in his chair, as forward as the chains would let him, and he kissed the tip of her nose, making her cry out.

As she called for the guards, his laughter only went up. The sound echoed in her ears for hours, and she swore that his white skin was a paint that rubbed off onto her nose, that his lips had somehow poisoned her. She stayed in her bath for three hours before she slapped herself, bruised her cheek, and reminded herself that all of that was completely illogical. That night she slept soundly in her denial and went to work in the morning looking more refreshed.

Only her pride convinced her not to cancel the next session with The Joker. Not to give up after two goddamn sessions. She put on her best blouse and shoes, smoothed her pants, and sat in her Doctor position (back rigid to the point of annoyance, legs crossed arrogantly, trying to feign relaxation). When he came in his raised his eyebrows, "I wasn't aware we were getting out the fancy duds, I'd've come dressed a bit nicer."

The Joker mockingly bowed to her. She fought the blush that wanted to rise, and won.

"Please have a seat, Mr. Napier." She wanted to be done catering to his psychosis, giving him a different identity. She thought _that_ had been her mistake. How wrong she was.

Instead of his first reaction, the Joker sat, crossed his legs and arched his back in a direct mockery of her, "I thought we went over this before, Miss Quinzel."

"_Doctor_ Quinzel." She let her annoyance seep through her tone.

"_Joker_. Or Mr. Joker, as you've been so keen on calling me." He eyed her up and down, "What's the chance of you picking up that skirt so I can have a mental picture next time they let me in art therapy?"

Harleen couldn't stop her eyebrow from quirking, "Do you know no boundaries, Mr. Joker?"

"Of course I don't. So restrictive." He dismissed, "Why do you like them so much?"

"Boundaries are what define normality. They are what define's life. Without the boundary of a pulse, we are dead. Life is a series of boundaries that set us into categories. Male, female. Tall, short. Smart, retarded…"

"Sane, insane. Cute, doc, I've never heard that spiel before." He rolled his eyes, bored, "It's no use quoting that life's bound by death shit on a man who's already been dead, and came back."

Genuine bafflement consumed Harleen's face, "What do you mean by that?"

"Did I st-st-st-stutter?" He giggled at her confusion, "I died. Some of my boys brought me back. They said the old me died in the chemicals during the change, but I think the former is far less philosophical then the latter, don't you?"

"Indeed. A character change and a lack of pulse are two different things…"

The laughter split through her sentence.

"Character change? Honey, I just got a new make-over. Ain't nothin' about me's so different from be-fore."

A chill ran up Harleen's spine. The Joker had just imitated her hometown accent, an accent she was careful to hide, to a T.

"What's a-matter, muffin?" He crooned at her, that clown-grin on his face making it maniacal even though it sounded sincere, "Can't stand a bit of nostalgia from home?"

"How did you know…"

"Harleen. Quinzel. Not to mention that darling little tilt you still say on 'Mister' although you hide it quite well."

Stunned, Harleen could only mumble, "Thanks."

She flinched as her twang stained the word. Defeated again, she called in the guards. Round three to him.

She tried to tell herself that the pain of defeat was like any other pain. Like the hunger pains she learned to ignore, the loneliness she learned to quell. Couldn't she just forget, or disregard, how easily the Joker got under her skin? How easily he took all her years of hard work and made them useless?

Was her boss right? Was this merely a monster beyond Harleen to control? Balling up all the used Kleenex on her bed, Harleen couldn't admit defeat. Not ever, not yet. She had to keep trying, she wanted to win. To bask in the victory, in the reward…

She'd simply have to buck up and keep pace with him.

Harleen combed out her hair and wore it down, for the first time in ages. She took the time to add a little make-up and tried again for a fitting outfit. Daring as she felt, she let her skirt hitch above her knee. None of her shoes felt…right. During her lunch hour she went and let a goofy sounding girl in a store talk her into a $400 pair of "must have" designer heels. When Harleen click-clacked into her office the Joker was already chained to a couch, waiting for her.

She braced herself for some brand of come on, but nothing came. Mildly alarmed that there wasn't even a giggling she turned to face him only to find that he was studying her. The dark circles around his eyes aside, his eyes had darkened in a sensual way as they crept from head to toe with a slowness borne of infinite patience. His corpse-white face, his eerie green hair both seemed to dim as he ran his tongue over those paralyzed lips…

"Oh…Harley." He almost whispered the pet-name, it caused a whole new set of chills down Harleen's spine…dear god when was the last time a man had spoken like that to her?

Her eyes wide open, dreaming they were half closed, her voice choked, "Wh-what did you call me?"

"Harley…I like it, don't you?" The Joker brought his eyes up from her new shoes to her eyes, holding the gaze until Harleen felt like she was being burned.

"I'm Doctor Quinzel." But she did like the nickname…she'd never had one before.

He shrugged, "Whatever you say…Harley."

When she went home that night she was smiling. Two catcalls on the walk home, when had that ever happened? The doorman to her apartment, usually so content to let the frumpy, bitter doctor open her own door, opened it with a flourish and tipped his hat to her. Harleen…Harley, got all the way up to her apartment still smiling. When she got inside she was tingling with giddiness. Never, in all her life, had anyone given her a nickname. She'd been dour, unhappy Harleen forever and a day…

It might have been a madman's touch, but it was a touch nonetheless and it was only human to be affected by it. A little nickname, a little playful flirting. He looked at her with the eyes of a man today, not the eyes of a monster.

"_Harley…Harley, Harley, Harley…I like it…don't you?"_

His voice danced over the syllables in her head over and over again…she tried to restrain herself by picturing that horrible face. But even that didn't damper her mood. Harleen was getting used to those lines of his face, so much sharper then a normal man's. Everything about the Joker was louder, longer, larger…he was a caricature of a real man, but perhaps that made him more human rather then less?

As she seeped into her steaming hot bath, Harleen shook her head, "No…no thoughts like that. Absurd."

But in her head, his voice whispered to her still.

Harleen didn't put the shoes on the next morning. She grabbed some old outfit and looked as she always did…but she still had the smile on her face, the swing in her step. There was an assumption that she left the building with on her way to work, an assumption that her attitude change would be more noticeable then a physical change…

It disappointed her how quickly people went back to treating her the same way they had before her mini-makeover. No catcalls, no nicely opened doors. By the time she got to work, she was pouting like a child.

On her lunch hour she went to a salon and got a quick haircut, stopping quickly by the salon from yesterday and demanding for the girl to give her a new skirt. Harley walked out of the store, bouncing in her soul again. Rushing to get back to work, Harley dropped her purse, and the contents spilled all over the street. As she picked them up she came eye level with a thrift store selling various items, most of which were displayed in the window Harley was stooped in front of. Among them were a pack of cards, splayed out in a fan…jokers at both ends.

On an impulse, Harley bought the cards. Back in Arkham she hid them in her desk as though they were a dirty magazine she didn't want her mother to find. They were harmless enough, just a pack of cards…but she knew why she had bought them. It was the reason she was hiding them in a desk like a shameful secret.

It was closing time, and Harley's new do was still perky, even if the day staff were all fading. She felt wired, wide-awake. Without realizing it she worked until one in the morning. As she finally gathered her things to go home, one of the guards spotted her.

"Dr…Quinzel?"

"Yes?" She turned, happy he smirked at her though oddly offended when he let his eyes wander.

"It's too late for you to walk, miss…may I go call you a cab?"

She nodded, secretly attributing the Harley hair to such a courtesy.

As he wandered off to find her a ride home, the asylum felt eerily silent. Normally in places like this there was some sort of racket at any given hour. Always someone awake and being tormented by their demons…but not at Arkham tonight.

Suddenly there was a quiet giggling. Instantly, Harley knew what room it was coming from. Room 138, Jack Napier. Alias, The Joker.

Her practice kitten heels didn't make a sound as she padded down the hall. Outside the room she lingered, but didn't expose herself to the glass window on the door. Even so, he knew she was there.

"See how he wobbled off like a fat dog trying to please? Sugar, you are too sweet for the vermin that work this place." The giggle subsided into complete quiet, she swore it echoed when she swallowed the lump in her throat. There was something downright intimidating about a man who knew, just _knew_, you were there.

"He's just being nice." Harley was proud that her voice didn't wobble like the guard.

"I can be pretty nice, myself, Harley. You should try me some time." The Joker breathed heavily onto the window, fogging it up and drawing the famous Joker-smiley the staff were used to seeing on anything he sketched. To Harley, this time, it didn't look so grotesque.

The guard came back, announcing her cab, and she went home that night. Her bed, empty for years, seemed too large for its loneliness and Harley found no rest.

There was silence between them when he was brought into her office. He was smiling, really smiling not just wearing his disfiguration, and she had basically given up on trying to hide her feelings. Her pride didn't want to do it, but she was making herself tell him that she couldn't be his doctor anymore. She wasn't prepared for him, not yet.

"Joker-"

"Where's the 'Mister'? I got used to it?" He leaned forward towards her.

"Mister Joker." Harleen cleared her throat, "I have to tell you that today is our last session together."

His face fell insofar as it could fall. The glow in his eyes turned to steel and there was a roughness in his voice, "Why?"

"I'm not ready for you…your case is too advanced for a doctor like me."

She leaned forward onto her hands, face pouting, hating the bitter taste of defeat. Apparently she leaned too far, from his seat across from her the Joker had just enough give in his restraints to lean forward and grab her arms. He shook her, rough enough to snap her head back and forth and growled, "You're not going to stop. Do you understand, Harley? You're going to stay with me. You're my doctor, my favorite doctor."

"Mister J I just don't know what to do with you!" Her country-home accent was completely uncovered, as she stood, shook off his grip and walked to the door, leaning her head against it.

Harleen felt like a little girl again, helpless and unable to decide. She had been unphased by the Joker's touch. She was still unphased when he started cooing at her.

"Harley…Harley, come here. Come sit by Daddy and he'll make you feel better." He paused, waiting for her response, waiting for her to move. Harley wanted to, she really did, she wanted to but it wasn't the answer. Could she get close enough to him to learn how to fix him, or was he just going to send her over the edge? Was she already over the edge? Had she fallen over it years and years ago?

The Joker didn't have the patience for Harley's internal philosophical pursuit.

"Get you're ass over here, Harley, I'm trying to tell you something!"

Instinctively she jerked up at his tone, straightened and went to go sit by him, "What is it you would like to tell me, Mr. Joker?"

He shook his head, that flare of anger gone as quickly as it came, "I'd like a new pet-name from you soon Dr. Quinzy. This formality shit is getting old."

Exasperated, waiting for the clock to run this session out so she could hand this case back to her boss, she sighed, "Anything else you'd like to tell me, Mr. Joker?"

That anger flared back, "Yes, get out off your high, selfish horse and help me help you."

"How?" She whispered, pleading with him, "How do I help you? How do I help me? How does this work? I don't know how this is supposed to work?

Harley fell to her knees, her hands covering her face, and she felt something warm and moist touch her forehead. She looked up to see what it was and discovered it when the Joker kissed her mouth. It was awkward, ever so slightly, to kiss with paralyzed lips but he was surprisingly practiced. Harley gave in for one moment…how long had it been since she'd been kissed?... then she pushed him away. Knocking for the guards to get him early.

"What's a matter, Doctor Q, so anxious to get rid of me?"

She straightened her blouse as the guards took the Joker away, "I'll see you next time, Mr. J."

The Joker laughed until they locked him away behind his door and Harley tried to come to terms with not leaving the case, and figuring out why she didn't tell anyone about today's interaction.

Harley walked home the night of The Kiss. It was a kiss that had shaken her to her core and she hadn't wanted it to…or had she? It wasn't just other doctors you had to please, it was your patient. And yourself. She was just stuck on the appropriate way of doing that…

There. She saw his face! Was he following her? Harley rushed over to the window and saw, not the Joker's face, but a passable copy. It was a small doll with a purple jacket like he was known to wear, the violently green hair and the too-large smile that was too friendly on the doll. She entered the store and picked up the doll as if in a trance.

"Can I help you?" A plump middle aged woman asked, her brown curls starting to grey. Harley didn't hear her at first, so she repeated.

"How much is this doll?"

"Two hundred…he's an antique."

"Antique? This is the Joker!" Harley snipped but when she looked back at the doll in her hands the smile was smaller, the suit was more of a blue then a purple and the hair wasn't green, but a poorly preserved blonde.

The woman smiled at her condescendingly, "I suppose he's close enough…if you don't mind, I don't like customers playing with them. These are valuable, you understand."

Playing with the dolls? Is that what the woman thought she was doing? Harley handed over her credit card haughtily, "I won't be needing a bag, I'll carry him."

As the woman moved to the back of the room she revealed a doll that was behind her. This one was a female with long legs and a big smiling face. She was in a red and black onesy with diamonds on it, her hair was covered in a hood with two ear-like bundles hanging off of it. Harley couldn't stop staring at it.

"…Harley Quin…"

"Yes?" Harley shook herself out of the daze and looked at the woman, trying to process her words.

"I said that's a harlequin clown. She's one of the few jesters modeled as a female."

"I'll take her, too." Harley said.

"M'am…she's five hundred dollars…"

"I said I'll take her too."

Harley went home with the dolls that night.

Her pseudo-Joker and the harlequin sat on her vanity. Harley couldn't think of anywhere else to put them, she hadn't bought a toy box for her apartment and there weren't any clear shelves. Plus…she didn't want to hide them away, she wanted to look at them.

Except that they stared at her.

To avoid their gaze she went and took a shower, when she came out, toweling herself dry, she saw they had fallen. The Joker was on top of the harlequin in what would've been an interesting sexual position if the dolls were equipped. Harley went to go move them but as she reached her hands out the Joker's kiss came back to her, full force. It hit her as though it were a blow and knocked her flat on her ass. She stared at those dolls until the sun rose…

Then she got up, made coffee, called in sick to work, and headed to the pharmacy. Chemicals were something she had a pretty firm grip on, but she couldn't find what she wanted…so she went to a craft store. She found herself in a costume shop before the end of the day. When she got back to her apartment she rolled up her sleeves and got to work.

The next day, Harley went to work, sipping coffee heavily, and had a box tied with an acid green bow staring mockingly at her from her couch. It was, in fact, in the same spot that the Joker had kissed her in such a short time ago.

Dutifully, Harley got through her paperwork. She got up from her desk, tucked the box under her arm, and click-clacked her heels all the way to the guards corridor. Her pudgy puppy guard was there again. Leaning against him just a bit, she asked if he would be a dear and get her a cab.

He practically ran.

The silence was there again that night.

"Oh, lover, do I hear you?" The giggling escalating, "Be careful, he may think you care."

Harley click-clacked to the door, and peered in. There he was, spread out on his bed as though it were a lounge chair, and winked at her.

"Lovely to see you, pumpkin."

Emotionlessly Harley opened the food slot and shoved the box into it, "That's for you."

The Joker got up from his nest, obviously amused and he hadn't even opened up the box yet, "A present? Doctor…people will say we're in love."

He bent down to get the box and her lips twitched, itching for a kiss, and she click-clacked away from him. She could tell when he opened the box; the hyena laughter woke all of Arkham up.

That night, she couldn't sleep. She missed her dolls. Day three without sleep. She got up, 4 am, and opened her closet. In it was something she had purchased yesterday. The costume store had been her last stop, and she figured she was just peruse for the hell of it.

The white pancake make-up reminded her of his face…so she bought it. The black domino reminded her of those deep-set eyes…so she bought it. She already had a blood-red lipstick that she had put out on her vanity and looked at for the last few days…

She hadn't expected to see such a beautiful costume. There, on the rack, was a jester costume that was the duplicate of the one her doll had worn. Harley put $300 on the counter and demanded the outfit. It had been hanging, menacingly, in her closet ever since.

But it was 4 am, and Harley's impulses, her desire to please, had decided on a master. She got up, striped, put on her make-up and then stepped into the latex jester suit. Feeling delicious, Harley couldn't help but laugh in sheer joy, laughing that encompassed her, consumed her whole. Skipping and doing cartwheels and flips off her bed, she continued laughing and laughing. Then she crawled under her bed and pulled out the old gun her parents had given her when they heard that she was moving to Gotham, one of the crime capitals of the world. It was a large, bulky metal thing, but Harley started swinging it back and forth like a toy.

She skipped all the way to Arkham.

The Joker was in his room, he'd already twisted the head off the Harl-e-Quin doll when he didn't think it did her justice and was continuing to preen his own duplicate. He heard the gunshots and started laughing lowly, victorious. Normal ears could hear the evil in that laugh…but Harley could only hear it as a playful lilt, reminding her where he was, this confusing, core-shaking man.

She tried to ring the keys around the barrel of the gun and the jingle-jangle only increased in irregularity as she skipped towards the Joker's room. The key in the lock, she twisted it slowly and it opened on her like a present. The Joker's eyes widened and his laugh became greedy, anxious for all he was determined to see and touch before the sun was up…in an hour.

"Hello Puddin'…whatcha say to getting out from this joint?"

The Joker's laughter increased and increased until it rang off the buildings of Gotham…Harley's echoing the whole time.

Fin. 

A/N- so its long, its not 100 accurate, but I am pretty happy with it and if your not….sorry?

Review please!!!!


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